


Pahlok, Arrogance

by KoboldKing



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Dragonborn DLC, Gen, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2020-06-09 16:18:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19479535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KoboldKing/pseuds/KoboldKing
Summary: The First Dragonborn chides the Last on the summit of a Skyrim mountain.





	Pahlok, Arrogance

**Author's Note:**

> Written in response to [holliequ's prompt thread on reddit.](https://www.reddit.com/r/FanFiction/comments/c7q2jp/dabble_in_drabbles_july_2019_daily_prompts/)

"It takes a strong will to command a dragon's soul," said the First Dragonborn. "Perhaps you aren't as powerful as you think."

There was a shimmer in the air as the soul of the Dov flowed into him, easily passing through the reflection he'd created to his true form. As long as the Last Dragonborn slew dragons then Miraak could project himself into the world just in time to steal their souls right out from under her nose, without even having to truly leave Apocrypha.

The Last Dragonborn looked annoyed—as well as contemptuous. Her silver eyes glared in his direction, and with an almost petulant _'hmph'_ she sheathed her bow.

"Cheater."

Miraak laughed. "'Cheater'? This is not a game, Dragonborn."

"Of course it is," she snorted, folding her arms and placing herself on a nearby rock. She wore only light armor and a fur hood, yet seemed unaffected by the howling winds of the mountain peak. "And you're _losing._ "

Ordinarily by now Miraak would have already dispelled his projection, returning his consciousness to Aprocypha to prepare for his return. Yet the Dragonborn's arrogant tone seemed to demand confrontation.

"Really, now?" His half-real form took a step towards her, towering over her with the physique of a true Atmoran champion. "If this is nothing but a game to you, explain to me how I am in any way losing. From where I stand, the score is very much in my favor."

The Last Dragonborn looked him in the eye, her glare replaced with something infuriatingly like _boredom_. "What score? The Dov souls you've taken? I've killed three in the past month, and this is the first you've managed to swoop and take from under me. You're like a noble lady's small dog. Barking and barking, but not _doing_ anything."

A flash of anger shot through him, but he kept himself calm. He was not ruled by bouts of emotion, like so many mad priests of ages past. He shook his head slowly, smiling behind his mask. "Have you not been paying attention, Dragonborn? If you truly believe I have done nothing then you are a fool. The minds of Solsteim are mine. My followers grow more numerous with every day-"

"The ones I don't stab, you mean?"

He spoke louder, ignoring her uncouth interruption. "-and my power continues to grow. Soon you will face no mere projection but the _full_ extent of my power. Soon I will be _dominating_ in this world, not merely observing it."

"Until another dragon burns down your temple," she said, flashing her teeth in a mocking smile. "And you run crying back to Oblivion, begging Papa Herma-Mora to bandage your scrapes and give you another chance."

Miraak ground his teeth. The sheer _impertinence_ of this... _child._

"Such mockery is beneath you," he said coldly. "In my time warriors afforded one another the respect they were due."

"That's exactly what I'm doing," she replied, idly kicking her feet in the air. She looked like nothing so much as a village brat, wisecracking to her elders while shirking chores. It was increasingly difficult to take her seriously, accomplished dragonslayer that he knew her to be.

"I see you learned very little from Paarthurnax and the Greybeards," he said, holding his head higher. "Did they not tell you that arrogance was the downfall of countless Dovahkiin before you? Your dragon soul is a gift from Akatosh. It enables you to walk as a wolf among sheep, but it does _not_ prepare you to face another such as yourself. Your power, such as it is, means nothing against me."

Annoyance flashed in her eyes once again. "And what do _you_ know about my power?"

He laughed once again, even harder upon seeing the genuine anger it was starting to illicit from her. "What _don't_ I know of you. Do you think I have only observed you while fighting dragons? I can sense when the Thu'um escapes your lips. When the Dov inside of you burns bright and you allow yourself the luxury of destroying those around you. I have watched you wreak carnage on brigands and beasts, on cultists and soldiers, on undead minions and those wretches the snow elves have become. Now here you stand, arrogant smirk on your lips, thinking that victories over children have readied you for facing another adult."

She was glaring at him now, her eyes smoldering with an intensity normal mortals could never feel. He saw now that it was there all along, hiding just behind her childish jokes, her girlish face and her determined playful facade.

That intensity reminded him of himself, once upon a time. The dragon within supplied a fire that could fuel any passion, be it rising to the upper echelons of the Cult or merely becoming leader to a band of assassins.

When she spoke again, it was with a much different tone than before. Gone was the boredom and the playfulness. Now she spoke with the voice of a Dov passing softly through a young woman's lips. The ancient language shook the ground as she whispered it, words of power creating meaning out of nothing.

 _"I am Dragonborn,"_ she hissed in Dovahzul. _"I earned the title when I slew my first Dov, and I made its meaning mine when I struck down Alduin in Sovngarde. You are not my equal. You are a faint shadow."_

Miraak stared, smiling and impressed in spite of himself. So she knew the tongue. Not many Dovakiin had actually learned the language that was theirs by birthright. The knave was more than she appeared—and this only made her more dangerously arrogant than was common in the dragon-blooded heroes of old.

He spoke back, voice loud, booming and clear. The air itself warped around his projection, dark clouds gathering at the mountain top.

_"Then come to me in Apocrypha. Show me the Dov you claim to be, and I will teach you the true meaning of this 'game.' Do so quickly. I grow ever nearer to my return."_

As his voice echoed across the mountain top he willed his projection to fade, vanishing from Nirn and snapping his consciousness back to Apocrypha. The sharp, vile air touched his lungs, the green haze of the environment returning to fog his vision. A dark glass stood upright in front of him, the foggy, distant reflection of the Last Dragonborn still glaring at the place where he had just stood.

He removed his mask to polish it, watching her face in rapt interest through the glass. The fury of a Dov was still smoldering in her gaze. He did not expect it would take her long to come here. They'd wielded insults as weapons, but his had cut far deeper.

Power was the birthright of the Dovahkiin, but _pahlok_ , arrogance, was its family curse.


End file.
